Yes, Caroline, there is a Santa Claus
by rhinestonecowboy
Summary: Christmas is my most Caroline and Eleanor time of the year. This one takes a hard turn to the North Pole in chapter 3. If suspension of disbelief isn't your jam, this story might not be either. If you're fine with magically mood-altering cookies, read on. Signed-in / named reviews posted. Merry merry, happy happy! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

"It's not the _size_ of the tree, Eleanor. I'm shocked at you. This one's maybe a little short, but otherwise it's just right. It's full and green – and I quite _like_ it." Caroline yanked her favored specimen from the row, twirled it. With some effort she examined the base and the tip, and congratulated herself on picking a winner. Her wife, however, seemed unconvinced.

"That's not what I was saying at all. I love this tree. As a – tree. On its own. In the wild. I'm sure it was lovely before it gave its life for our living room. I'm just wondering if it's a little too full. I like to see the ornaments and I think they'll all just get swallowed up in this fellow." Eleanor scowled as she stepped side to side around it.

"Well I can't stand the pointy bare ones. They're an odd color. I always get the bushy fir ones, they're much more homey, you know, cozy, and – "

"I don't care what you always do," Eleanor interrupted. "What you always do isn't what we always do, and that's the rub here, isn't it? Two bull-headed women trying to make our first Christmas together work?" She hooked Caroline's elbow and kissed her. "First Christmas as a household - don't skim that part."

"Who are you calling bull-headed?" Caroline placed two fingers at the crown of her head and charged Flora, who giggled and squealed.

The Dawson-Strathclyde family had been an hour at the tree lot already. _Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree_ had played a staggering six times. Flora was a toddler popsicle in her puffy snowsuit, a purple star roving the aisles with hands in each of her Mum's. She hadn't melted down yet, simply because the twinkling lights on the makeshift fences were merry, and the scrappy inflatable reindeer reanimated her at the end of each row of trees. Eleanor had made a game of it, telling her that the decorations were brand new every time they emerged from the forest and came upon them, and the whole place was magical and worth the cold toes.

It had been the first event of the night to set Caroline off, just after they arrived. "I don't like to lie to her," she'd whispered to her wife at the cocoa stand after the game had begun. "It sets a bad precedent."

"Am I really lying to her? I mean – really?" Eleanor forked over almost twenty pounds for three cocoas and a tip. Caroline winced at the extravagance. She'd favored stopping at Costa on the way across town first, knowing that the lot would pillage their captive audience. That argument she'd also lost when profound sighs and great big eyes from both the girls in her car, who pleaded that it was part of the experience. They'd been right, all in all. Caroline was enjoying herself a lot more than she'd anticipated when she'd rushed out of the office, cursing at Beverley the whole time for not talking more sense into her.

Eleanor held on to Flora's hot cup for proper chilling as they sat on a frozen bench with her between them. The line at the cashier was intimidating, but the ranks of families wandering the rows of evergreens didn't seem to be growing. Caroline hadn't been to a lot in years, had established the expectations for John and the boys and sent them on their way. She'd forgotten how fun it was, how it set a mood for the season.

"All I've done is give her imagination a little spark," Eleanor whispered back at her, when they were settled.

"You're leading Flora astray," Caroline rebutted. "They're just representations, not real at all, and the fact is that they aren't different every time we see them."

"Yes they are."

"Can I have it now?" Flora peered from under her white fuzzy lined hood and reached up for her treat.

Eleanor removed the lid and took a test sip. She handed it over to Caroline, who took another sip, and handed it down. "Two hands please."

Flora clamped her mittens around the paper cup and tipped it all the way back. Smart mums had prepared and both had already compulsively checked the seal on the lid. It was half-way to frozen, anyway.

"Have you decided what you're getting Jane," Eleanor asked.

"I have not. Have you decided what you're getting Celia?"

"Touché. Shall we?" Eleanor took the offered empty from Flora, and away they went to seek their first joint Christmas tree.

Almost an hour later, no joy.

"Maybe we should come back this weekend, during the day, when it's light," Eleanor suggested.

"Day or night we're up against it, aren't we," Caroline admitted. "We've our own steadfast approaches to the holiday, and this tree is simply the first physical manifestation of that."

"Highly symbolic."

"Indeed. But your veteran administrator wife knows when to call it quits on a topic of debate. We're not going to solve anything at half eight on a Tuesday night. And Flora's seconds from supernova. Let's table and regroup."

"Agreed," replied Eleanor.

Caroline groaned and lifted glassy-eyed Flora into her car seat. She struggled and huffed with the straps over the bulky suit, nearing panic herself when her daughter began to fuss. She held up her hands and backed away slowly.

Eleanor leaned into the Jeep and began to mesmerize their little girl. "Now then, my little rough puff. Can I ask you for only a few seconds more indulgence?" She lowered and layered ever more honey into her voice, "I especially liked the cocoa tonight. I often prefer it a little richer, but this was still quite good, wasn't it? Not as good as your gorgeous Mum, makes, certainly, but you're a little young for rum, yet." Moving ever closer as she spoke, never looking away from Flora, hands working gently and deftly at the buckle, soon enough the job was done.

"Now I remember why I married you." Caroline grinned and shut the door after her snake charmer, waited for Eleanor to climb into the passenger seat, and closed the door after her.

"You married me for the scones, and I've no illusions about it. But I don't care because I love you," Eleanor said the minute they were all buckled in.

Caroline nodded, started the car and blasted the defroster, then leaned over to kiss Eleanor on the cheek. "It wasn't the toddler magic or the scones at all. It was entirely down to the garters and we're both liars if we don't admit it."

"Well I married you for your wine cellar. Scouts honor." Eleanor held up three fingers and they both laughed as Caroline pulled out of the lot and onto Wetherby and started home.

Home for now, anyway. This would be her last Christmas on Conway Drive. She never thought she'd be living there – or leaving there – with a toddler in tow. "We're too old for this by far, you know," Caroline said to no one, or perhaps to herself. "This one's a Christmas miracle all on her own." She looked back and smiled at Flora.

"You two are all the Christmas magic I need," Eleanor replied.

"Were those Santa's magic reindeer in the trees," Flora asked from the back.

Caroline glared at Eleanor.

Eleanor shrugged, turned her nose up. The car fell deathly silent, save Karen singing on about home and the holidays.

"No," was all Caroline replied.


	2. Chapter 2

"It's just not right to _lie_ to children that way. And you half-baked secular Christians seem the only ones who think it necessary." Caroline glared at Alan, on the sofa next to her, and waited for any kind of reasonable response. The Santa debate had raged on in the tree-less household after Flora went down.

"Listen, to be perfectly honest, I think it's just a bit of harmless fun. And what you're wanting to do with Flora, it's none of my business, is it?" Alan pleaded, then clicked off Graham Norton. "If you're looking for me to answer for the faithful, you'd be better off inquiring with your wife."

Eleanor came over from the kitchen, two mugs of tea in hand. She offered one to Caroline.

"Thank you," she mumbled, hating to be the recipient of a favor from someone she was cross with.

"You're very welcome. Now shove over and let me sit next to Alan and we'll all be quiet, or take yourself to bed."

Caroline crossed her arms and stood. "Goodnight, Alan. Enjoy your show." She lingered, just a moment, eyes on Eleanor, giving her one more chance to yield. She'd plaited her dark hair in two braids and the Swiss miss effect was frustratingly cute.

"Oh no. You're on your own, grinch." Eleanor waved a hand at her, smiled at Alan. "Hurry and turn it back on. I don't want to miss a second. Is she really going to sing?"

"That's what I read in _Hello_ , on the internet you know, just this morning," he replied, words running together with inexplicable excitement. "Allegedly going to be _We Need a Little Christmas_ , and a secret guest with her." His eyes twinkled and danced and he nudged Eleanor with his elbow. "Whole article about how she's getting her voice in shape to go back and do something on stage again. Celia loathes her of course, for no good reason. Glad I've got at least one ally in the house."

Caroline waited for Alan to stop rambling, and was rewarded with nothing.

"Count me as a steadfast ally, Alan. I'm head over heels with her myself. I bet she doesn't rob her children of the joy of Santa Claus." Eleanor tossed a glance up and down Caroline before she sniffed, "You heard the man. She's going to sing. I'll stay down here for our Conway Drive meeting of the Sarah Lancashire fan club, and you can go up and fight with yourself until you're even more convinced you're right."

"Fine."

"Love you," Eleanor called out.

"Yes, love you back," Caroline muttered over her shoulder.

She huffed up the stairs as roughly as she could without spilling her tea or risking waking Flora, hand at the tie of her robe and swishing it back and forth. When she got to the room and went to set down her mug, so she could properly pace, she couldn't find a coaster anywhere. She yanked open the nightstand drawer, only to be slapped in the face by the one thing she didn't want to see at the moment. A handprint Christmas card from Flora. She and Greg had made them last week.

All the reindeer were messy finger-painted brown, but they all had red noses, Fora's tiny thumbprint. "They're all Rudolph, because he's the most useful," her almost four-year-old had explained. Flora and her favorite most-useful reindeer. She was growing up to be an awful lot like her mother.

The inexplicably flighted deer soared against a powder blue sky, yellow sun in the corner. Flora had not been into winter scenes this week, despite the gray and cold. Or, perhaps, because of it. Perhaps a little bit of imagining reality away. Already taking after her other mother.

Caroline sat gently on the edge of the bed and held the construction-paper card open, staring at it. Her practical, imaginative daughter. Who, for now, believed in Santa Claus.

Flora's first Christmas, Caroline had been adamant that the myth never be uttered in Flora's presence. She'd had enough of lies, all around, to last her a lifetime. How could she start with Kate's daughter on such an untrustworthy foundation? She'd never wanted Santa for the boys, but John had insisted. Waxing on about childhood memories and light, merry, hearts and magic. She'd not been as sure of herself, so many years ago. Flora was her chance to make it right, and she'd do it her way. Greg had been easily dealt with.

The next Christmas, all fine again. Caroline managed to keep the ridiculous tradition out of the house, her daughter none the wiser. Television was closely monitored, and when they went out to the shops she explained Father Christmas and his red suit were just meaningless parts of the fun, like the Easter Bunny or Leprechauns.

But Flora was just too big this year to keep a lid on it. The entirety of Christianity was conspired against her and science. One disastrous playdate with tears for all and all her work had been for naught. She'd explained to Flora, of course, that other children believed in the myth, and it wasn't right of her to spoil that for them. But this year the die had been cast when Flora fell in toddler-love with a girl who'd already turned four, almost five now, Penny Wharton. Penny, whose mother had hosted the clearly poorly-supervised playdate, believed adamantly in Santa Claus. And after showing Flora all the gifts she'd received from him over the years, by the end of it, starry-eyed Flora's resolve had crumbled, and she did too. After all, in their house right now, Penny Wharton's word was the word of God.

Eleanor, of course, was perfectly content with the change in the weather. Had said, even, that she was glad about the turn of events. She was a great believer in Santa Claus. Even to this very day, she'd admitted when pressed.

Caroline folded the card neatly and put it back in the nightstand and slid the drawer shut. She took up her cooling tea, inhaled deeply. Spiced Christmas from Betty's. Her seasonal favorite. She took a sip. A half-teaspoon of honey, the exact amount she preferred at bedtime. Damn Eleanor, who couldn't help but be relentlessly considerate.

She sighed, stripped and hung her robe, then crawled into a cold bed. She drew her bare legs up and stretched a little this way and that. Grabbed her tea and stewed in her own frustration a while longer.

The next thing she knew, two gentle hands wrapped hers and gently pulled loose the mug.

"Good thing this was empty, Sleeping Beauty."

"Was I?" Caroline swum up from a nice, vague impression she was having about Eleanor and lavender, to see her wife's smiling face, wrinkles at her mouth and eyes, framed in burnt amber waves, only inches away. "Did I fall asleep?"

"You did." Eleanor sat next to her at the edge of the bed, Caroline pulled closer to her by the weight. She rubbed a thumb on Caroline's chest, at bare wet skin at the v in the thin cotton shirt, creating a circle warmth with the friction. "Only one drop down."

"I didn't mean to."

"No, you didn't. You meant to stay sat up and wait for me to come in so you could finish our disagreement."

"I suppose I did."

"We should always have a row when you're half asleep. It's so much more pleasant." Eleanor bent down, kissed the side of Caroline's mouth. There was the lavender again. It must have been her tea. She was already dressed for bed. She must have been in the room for a while before Caroline woke.

"Let's just not ever row," Caroline mumbled.

"Have I got it wrong – am I the one sleeping and in a dream?" Eleanor slipped under the sheets with a minimum of fluffing, keeping the warm in and shuffling directly over to curl up next to Caroline.

"No. We shouldn't fight – you just always agree with me, and we'll only ever know peace in the valley."

Eleanor wrapped her arms around Caroline to pull even closer, settled her head on her chest, kissed her jaw. "That sounds like a lovely Christmas wish. Perhaps Santa Claus will bring you a new wife and it will come true."

"You're impossible. I love you," Caroline murmured, really trying to get more rancor in than she knew she managed.

"I know. So are you. Now go back to sleep. Sweet dreams, tiger."

"Mmmmm."


	3. Chapter 3

Caroline woke, fuzzy and out of place. She brushed long, snow white wisps of Eleanor's hair from her face, and the wool away from her deep slumber. She shook her head gently. "Did we fall asleep? I think I was dreaming," she murmured. She glanced around waiting for her bearings to moor.

Outside the frosty mullioned windows, smooth, glittering dunes of snow mounded halfway up the gas lamp posts. Lights of all colors strung between them twinkled against the perennial winter night. In the many tiny cottages at the end of the narrow lane the warm glow of firelight was coming up, grey smoke beginning to rise from the chimneys. The green and pink northern lights shimmered against the jutting crags of the mountain ranges to the west.

In the corner of the bedroom the lush Siberian spruce was full and fragrant and adorned with heirloom ornaments and annual selections curated by Eleanor from the thousands they received. Silver tinsel cascaded in long waterfalls over the branches, their Christmas gifts to each other nestled under the swooping boughs. The tip was crowned by the great star, pulsing softly with a warm white glow. Their grey wolfhound Gandalf lay curled in his bed next to the fire, garland strung the mantel, and all was right with the world.

"We did get a little sleep. Our last afternoon nap before the big push," came the rich, merry voice at Caroline's side. "We probably shouldn't have indulged in this little tryst. But I couldn't help myself. You know how I get during the season."

"At least it was a good little tryst, if it's our last of the year."

Eleanor rolled away from Caroline. She pulled on a crimson robe laying over the edge of the sleigh bed – then turned back and laid over her again. "I can't believe it. Our last of the year. How many has it been, now?" She extended her hand, fingers, to graze Caroline's chin and clucked. "Keeping up on your grooming these days is a full time job."

Caroline ignored the last as she pawed through her lingering haze. "Five hundred and thirty-eight. Is that right? I'm sorry. I can't think clearly. I really was just having such a vivid dream. Did we have tea, before we came to bed?"

"We didn't. I wanted some, but you couldn't wait. Eat your cookies while you tell me about your dream. You've gotten dangerously thin." Eleanor handed over a small plate of sugar cookies from the bedside table, a vivid, decorated assortment of reindeer, snowwomen, and elves with pointy caps.

Caroline hovered a finger over each and selected an elf. She almost took a bite, then reconsidered. "Do you ever think it's strange we make our cookies in the shape of our friends? I mean, this one looks an awful lot like Janie." She waved it at Eleanor, who pursed her lips and squinted.

"I suppose. I guess I never put red noses on the reindeer, and that calls it out a little, doesn't it? Maybe it feels a little too close. You're right. I'll have to perfect snowflakes and presents."

"Mmmm. I don't know if I'm feeling cookies right now anyway. Have we got any scones in the house?"

"Scones? Why would we have scones? Caroline what's gotten into you?" Eleanor selected a cookie from the pile and took a bite. "I swear, every hundred years you catch a hair. I remember when you went on the croissant tear. I never left the kitchen."

"Don't know. Scones sounded right somehow. Anyway, the dream - it all felt familiar, in a way, except we were in 21st century England."

"How romantic."

"Really? You think?" Caroline, feeling much more herself, donned her own robe and wandered into the en-suite. What had that dream been about? It wasn't a bad one, exactly, but something about it left her feeling chilled and hollow.

Eleanor joined her moments later in the shower. The steamy affair was nothing save efficient. The December push was on, and they were a man down. Rather, they were a woman down. One Flora Claus had decided she no longer wanted a stake in the family business.

* * *

With an extra sharp flick of the wrist, Caroline launched the red and green stuffed and scarfed penguin a hundred yards across the workshop. It collided with the golden minute-hand of the clock presiding over their cheery operation and plummeted forty feet to collide with a hapless process elf measuring the output efficiency of the carols-composition team. Something had to be thrown, other than herself, over the railing of the C-level offices.

The poor elf stumbled, fell, then picked herself up and carried on with only a covert glance at the two women storming across the balcony far above it all.

"You know nothing at one hundred," Caroline shouted at her misguided daughter. "You think you know everything, but you know nothing, Flora. This is _stupid_. It's not just that, it's _offensive_. How could you turn your back me – on all of us – like this?"

"Why not let Wills be in charge? Or Lawrence. Lawrence would _love_ a shot at the big time, but you're too stuck on yourself to give him a chance."

"That's absolutely ridiculous. You know the glamour only runs through the women in the family. It's absurd to think that men would have the proper skills, or temperament, physiology – or anything. It has to be you, or we're done."

"It's the age of the internet, the digital world now, Mum. And of Walmart and Alibaba and _information_ , not myth. All of this is a ridiculous waste of resources." Flora threw her arms wide and gestured to the massive warehouse below, which stretched almost three kilometers.

"We're not Polar China with candy canes, darling. You know this." Eleanor flew up the stairs from the floor below, and herded Caroline and Flora into her office. She shut the door behind her, turned to both of them, and pointed to arm chairs next to the roaring fire.

Caroline took her seat as directed and waited for Flora to comply. Which she did, but not before pulling her chair further from her mother's.

"Flora we're the magic," Caroline insisted as a cup of hot cocoa appeared in her hands. She took a sip. Just enough rum to bring a twitch to her lips, despite her frustration. "We're the very ether of Christmas. The ethos. By choice or by lack of faith you've never really believed that and I simply can't fathom _why_. Christmas is in your _blood_."

"I believe you've crafted an empire out of thin air, and that's wonderful, Mum. But it's not for me. I don't want to rely on people's blind faith to prop up my irrelevant existence and that's that."

Flora seemed, finally, to register the sharpness of her accusation. She lowered her voice, leaned in toward her mother. "It's – it's - we're in a different era now, Mum."

"Irrelevant existence?" Caroline stuttered. Her own daughter considered her irrelevant. She supposed that all great dynasties struggled with transition of power, but still -

"You know what I mean." Flora shook her head. "Not – irrelevant. Archaic, maybe."

"It may be archaic, but it's been who we are forever. What so much of the world is, forever. All your mothers before you gave everything to make Christmas possible. Have I really raised you to be so selfish – so cavalier?"

"Selfish? My foremothers gave themselves to serve a capitalist master whose time has come and gone. The real magic – the miracle of Christmas - has nothing to do with our family," Flora continued, uncensored again in the passion of her self-defense. "Material goods should have nothing to do with the season. And everything we've ever done has made them indispensable to it. I don't even know why I came here in the first place after Mum died. I should have stayed with her people."

Caroline shot to her feet. She hurled her entire mug of cocoa into the fire. It shattered and the resulting inferno blazed bright red, showers of sparks rising up the chimney, before banking to mere flickers. "That I lived this long, loved you this much, just to hear those words come out of your mouth." She cradled Flora's chin in her hand, searched for a yielding temperament of any sort in the deep brown eyes she'd once thought of as so joyful and kind. Finding none, she stalked out the door.

"That was totally uncalled for, Flora," Eleanor scolded her daughter, before she could slip off. "And cruel."

"Was it, Mum? I don't think it was. I know you can't be the one to change her. You never could deny her anything, and I suppose that's what love is for you two – "

Eleanor recoiled, wishing her massive leather armchair could swallow her up.

"And it's perfect isn't it?" Flora conceded. "I can't imagine ever loving someone the way you two do, over five centuries. It's almost impossible to even comprehend, so I wouldn't dare criticize. All I'm saying is that there's no one else to make her face reality."

"If you truly can't fathom what's bound me and your mother together for all these years, then Flora I'm afraid you might be right. You're not the woman for this job – and you're not the woman I thought we raised you to be." Eleanor stared at the fire, dwindling to embers as the cold drew in.

"Of course I'm right. I'm just the only one who loves her enough to make either one of you admit it." Flora finished this quietly and retraced her mother's steps out the door.

Eleanor sighed. She turned to the Aurora dancing outside her window, the ions and atmosphere – and magic - forged into one to animate the dark sky above them all. She was reminded and comforted by one of her favorites produced by the carols department and shipped down quite a while ago. _I suppose if Mary's little trio made it through the desert on nothing but faith and unconditional love, we can too._


	4. Chapter 4

The grand, gilded clock that watched over Caroline Claus and all her charges would stop in 22 days, 8 hours, 13 minutes, and 45, now 44, seconds. Every midnight on Christmas Eve, Miracle Mean Time, it came to a clanging halt. Mellifluous bells tolled the occasion and were greeted almost every year with cheers. Once or twice each century it was met with a sigh of relief, and the taverns in Svalbard closed early those nights. Much was made of the first drink, but most of the second round was abandoned as good-natured elves wandered home in the dark looking dazed.

Their countdown was always precise. They measured very specifically by the rate of decay of an atom that had not yet made its way to the mortal chart of elements. Its state was flexible, in tune with more than magnetic fields and celestial relativity. Because of this, the Claus family operation never needed clumsy interventions like leap years, never lost random seconds to miscalculations.

This harmony was more than practical. It flowed hand in hand with the synergy that kept their part in the holiday traditions running smoothly, as it had for more than two millennia. Their place in the order of things had been gifted to Cassandra Claus at the beginning of it all, almost synchronously with the birth of the star that twinkled millions of miles away but dead center above them.

Caroline surveyed the hustle below. She didn't need charts and calculations from her COE Janie to know they had begun to significantly diverge from peak output efficiency. This entire year had been marked by lags, breakdowns, and outages. Subsequently, work hours had been increased. Morale went down, and with it, productivity. They were completely out of whack and there was nothing Caroline could do about it.

Flora, though she refused to accept it, was the only one who could. As soon as she had declared a little more than a year ago that that Christmas would be her last with the family, the entropy had begun.

The first to go had been the flux capacitor on the enigma maximizer. A month later, the pistons on the wonder engine had inexplicably seized up. When spring came the ebullience converter blew out. On and on the mechanical failures went until the engineering elves staged a go-slow, and Eleanor was forced to intervene. She enticed all parties to the bargaining table, where a compromise was shortly reached. Caroline summoned her wife to mediate operations only in the direst of situations. Subtle but undeniable, her magic tended to get away from her. If not closely watched a very pleasant but languorous fugue was liable to overtake them all. It had done just that in 1913 to chilling effect on the world.

"You look too tired to be the woman who spent the afternoon dozing in the arms of her loving wife." Eleanor sank down next to Caroline on the polished cedar bench running the length of the observation balcony. It had taken William ten years to carve it. The griffins at the posts on the ends, a year each to craft.

She wrapped an arm around Caroline, who leaned her head on her shoulder.

"Look at it, Eleanor. It's all on the verge of collapse. Even if it seems fine, on the surface. Hundreds of elves bent to their tasks. Each and every one of them love every second of their work. They're happy. It's literally what we do – we create joy. Why can't Flora see that?"

"It's sort of ephemeral, our work, isn't it? She's lost her way, that's all. It's not hard to understand either. She spends almost all her time in the mortal world. That – and losing her mother so young. I can't imagine the strength it takes to sustain her faith at all."

"But we raised her to be strong. To understand that she'd have so many questions, and doubts. We raised her to have resolve in the face of all that goes on down there." Caroline sagged against her wife. She outlined with one finger the ornate scarlet patterns woven into her creamy cardigan and tried to find the intimacy in the moment, but couldn't find any feeling at all but resignation.

"Don't give up, darling. On Flora. Or yourself."

"But you know what happens to us if -"

"Stop. Don't even think it." Eleanor stood and held out a hand. "I'm not sure about it yet, but I've got a feeling coming on. Let's do a little management by walking around. I want to see if I'm on to something."

Caroline took the hand and stood, slowly. She was beginning to feel her long years recently. Joints that complained more often and a persistent burning in her lower back.

Eleanor produced a cookie from the pocket of her sweater, a white and red striped candy cane shortbread. "For the spirit."

The delightfully brisk peppermint flavor perked Caroline right up. She blinked, shook herself. "Morose is an addicting mood, isn't it? It's just not like me, all this skepticism and distraction. But it's just followed me since that dream this afternoon."

"Whatever you were supposed to learn must be working its way through slowly. Just let it go for now. We have work to do."

* * *

Their first stop on Eleanor's tour of the workshop floor was the gratitude generator. It was humming along nicely, but to Caroline's ear there was a whine to it. A false note at the very top of the pitch that made her feel small and needy.

"How's the output flow for the month, Winnie," Eleanor asked. "By the way - love your tights."

"Thanks," the young elf replied. "I've never felt that confident in stripes, but my wife insisted." Winnie blushed as she continued. "We're going strong, Ms. Claus. Margins are holding steady with a less than 1% fluctuation rate. Though if you quantify the total output versus capacity, then challenge it against the marvel theorem we created to correct for false corollaries, at a year over year – "

"It's down," Caroline summarized.

"Yes, it is, Ms. Claus." Winnie rubbed the pointy tip of one ear, then shied away to study a gray screen with green lines zagging across it, joined tongue and groove to the side panel of the massive machine. Retrofitting the infrastructure with modern technology had been an artistic feat William and Flora had loved tackling together, once. Remembering their excited collaboration buoyed Caroline as they moved on.

"Mmm hmmm." Eleanor offered another cookie from her bottomless pocket, this one a gingerbread man wearing silver buttons and a black top hat, all with a nice zing to it.

"Hullo - hullo - Ms. and Ms. Claus." Clementine, one of Caroline's longest-serving elves, waved them over to the awe transformer.

"Happy Christmas, Clementine. How are Eve and Brie," Eleanor inquired.

"Oh quite well, quite well, thank you for asking. We're hoping to take a trip to Denali summit this summer. A little tropical R and R."

"That sounds lovely." Caroline rested a hand on the tiny woman's shoulder, craned her neck upward to the top of the distilling tower. "And how's everything going here?"

Clementine paused. "It's really improving. I mean, after all the troubles we had last month, I couldn't really wish for any better." She stepped over to a work panel and tapped up a schematic display. "Inbound conditions have been fluctuating widely across the spectrum. Precisely calculating the reverb variables within the chamber to acceptable margins has become a little bit of a statistical probability challenge, but we've modified our calibration mechanisms throughout to adapt. Our conversion to ether rate is still declining, though."

"I see." Caroline, hands clasped at her back, paced the circumference of the machine. The intricately detailed relief work on the pine veneer façade, depicting Christmas morning the world over, looked worn. Dusty and faded. She made a mental note to send the restoration elves over in the New Year.

Onward they moved through several more stations. Eleanor mysteriously produced cookies between stops, all with invigorating bite. Still, with each check-in Caroline grew more discouraged. Despite their best elvish efforts, the detailed analyses of the numbers refused to lie. The overall outlook was glum.

"How's that idea of yours shaping up? Because I'm near tears." Caroline took a seat on the landing of the grand central staircase. The Debussy selections today playing softly in the background were enticing, but her melancholy had returned more entrenched than ever. She clapped twice, sharp and clear. A fall of snow began in the ceiling far above. It evaporated before it fell more than a couple dozen feet below the wooden beams of the massive rafters, but the effect was nice. Or it was, usually.

"I think I've heard what I needed to hear." Eleanor meandered back and forth in front of her, fingers just at her bottom lip. She glanced upward and her eyes stayed fixed on the windows and the starry night sky.

"Have you? What about any of that did you need to hear? I'm no better off for having the obvious rubbed in my face."

"Please don't be cruel, or I'll have to have Janie put you on the naughty list."

"You wouldn't dare." Caroline rested her chin in her hands and ran over each report again in her head. There simply wasn't a glimmer of good news in any of it.

"We have one more stop. We'll just need to bundle up first." Eleanor floated past her, up the stairs toward the residence.

She hauled herself up by the banister and followed. To what possible encouraging end she had no idea. She reached into her own pocket – and found a cookie. An exactly decorated replica of the tree in the master suite. She snapped it in half and took a bite. Lavender. How odd – Eleanor knew she was much fonder of rosemary.


	5. Chapter 5

"If you're so worried about my weight, this forced march to nowhere is hardly the solution." Caroline huffed voluminous clouds into the chill air in her effort to speak. They'd been snowshoeing across the tundra for twenty minutes already.

"You haven't figured out where we're headed yet?" Eleanor paused and leaned on one of her poles, her chest steadily rising and falling under her furry parka, her own words taking misty shape in the perpetual polar night.

"I haven't." Caroline took the reprieve offered and shoved her poles through the crust of the snow. The fjords on either side towered over them framed the blue-black sky and set a glittering narrow channel of snow to the sea, only a mile away. The ice caps behind glowed against the swirling ribbon of the Aurora presiding over the rushing wind. It had turned a rare red and violet tonight. She was gifted, she knew, to be able to see the full spectrum so vividly and clearly. The lights were often just a milky cloud to the mortals. She'd forgotten that. "We're going to the Dalskilvatnet overlook, where we were married."

"Yes. On the solstice. When I first saw the northern lights – really saw them – through your eyes."

Caroline could hardly complain about the journey now. In fact, she could do nothing but look forward to it – or at least the destination. Though she hoped Eleanor had packed snacks.

* * *

Two enormous chairs, thrones, really, though Caroline refused to acknowledge them as such, stood in tangled relief against the full moon at the very edge of the glacier. They had been sent as wedding gifts to them by woodland elves, shipped by sea from the Siberian forest. Crafted from interwoven branches of larch, birch, pine and spruce, they had endured the centuries on the overlook by magic, love, craftsmanship, or a mixture of all.

She unceremoniously collapsed into one and unstrapped her snowshoes.

"We've made it just in time." Eleanor sat in the chair at her right and took her hand. "Thank you for bearing with me."

"I haven't seen the twilight here in decades."

"Neither have I." Eleanor reached into her pack and pulled out a tin.

From her own bag, Caroline produced a thermos. "Always be prepared."

They toasted with spiced cider, and shared black-nosed venison pasties as the fledgling light rose at the horizon. As it peaked, they could just make out the lake, hundreds of meters below. Four minutes later it was gone, replaced by black skies. An almost negligible miracle.

"By the solstice, there won't even be a visible twilight. The dark will seem unending," Eleanor said quietly. It was still, perfectly still right now. Her voice split the reverie and brought Caroline back to herself.

Back to herself, but not completely into the here and now. From her perch at the top of the world she had drifted farther from the mundane troubles of the immediate. "But it's not unending, the dark, even if it seems like it. And that's why the Claus women are always married here on the winter solstice. Because from that point on, they'll be more and more light every day."

"Hasn't that come true," Eleanor leaned over to whisper, lips tickling her ear.

"Yes." Caroline smiled.

"Could you tell me, please, by what percentage our comfort and joy has increased, year over year, since we've been married?"

Caroline scowled at her – "I don't think I could. I –"

"And could you tell me, also, what formula we might apply to extract more bliss out of our afternoon – trysts? First of course we'd need to quantify the outcomes. Shall we measure that by the, emm, volume? Perhaps the length of time it takes to resume resting heart rate?"

"I don't want to do any of those things," Caroline replied.

"No. Neither do I," said Eleanor. "Could you help me out then, and score for me, on a scale of one to ten, the amount of happiness you just received, relative to other romantic events, watching the twilight come up, together, at the spot we were married? Try and be precise."

"No thank you."

"Shall I even ask you to rate my cookies versus my pastries, and evaluate which is superior, quantitatively?"

"Absolutely not." Caroline refilled their ciders, glad for the extra spice she'd added. "And that's exactly your point, isn't it, darling? In all of this." Caroline gestured to the night sky, the glacial cliff, the Aurora.

"Yes."

The one sacred job of Caroline's family was ensuring the existence, the omnipresence of the Christmas spirit. The holiday spirit, if you were Modernist about it. Though that wasn't really her purview, the entire holidays. The Jews, Muslims, the Buddhists and the Sikh, the Pagans and the Satanists, they all had their individual operations running. Bicenturials were great fun, but for the most part everyone had their rather specific set of strategies and fulfillment and went on their own merry way.

Caroline and all her elves collected, distilled, amplified, and distributed faith. Each year, each Christmas, where there was no faith, they gave bounty. Where it was mean, small, or corrupt, they brought gratitude. Where there was only belief, they brought mystery and miracle. These were not things to be measured. They were things to be known. Felt and understood in no way that could ever be quantified.

"I've gone too far, haven't I?" Caroline took a sip of the warm apple and cinnamon, whisky and clover. Allspice and nutmeg, some butter too, for body. The delight of the beverage was in the alchemy. The whole greater than the sum of its parts. "I've tried to rank the intangible. How can I possibly blame Flora for her lack of faith?"

"We're entrusted with the divine, and we've tried to make it mortal," Eleanor admitted.

"Not you – I - have."

"I stood by quietly. The past century. I didn't question, though I didn't understand – not the way it counted. I let you tell me what was right, explain it away logically, and I didn't feel what I knew was a harder truth. I should have said something. That's my job. I'm your partner."

"But you've never questioned me. Not when it comes to the work."

"Nor when it comes to our family. The children – they were always a little more yours. I let it be that way, because – " Eleanor didn't finish.

Caroline couldn't stand to make her. "Because they're my blood. And the magic – it's in the blood. But it's yours too, now, Eleanor. Everything I have, I am, it's yours too. Full stop."

"Can you ever own what was never yours to begin with?"

"I don't know," Caroline said. She didn't. Flora never was completely hers to begin with. No child could be. Flora was hers, her family, but not solely. She belonged to Caroline, but only in as much as she also belonged to her birth mother, to Eleanor, her brothers, and to her own self. Blood might bring meaning, but in the end no real definition. Caroline was trying to own Flora like a possession – to force her to choose a prescribed, knowable path. She'd measured and defined the value of Flora's life in her terms, not her daughter's. What were Flora's terms? What created meaning for her? The only tools Caroline had given Flora for judging herself, her worth relative to the family, were so very material. The very word Flora had used.

"You know what it means for us," Caroline dared to say aloud. "If she won't inherit and Christmas Eve passes -"

"I do. Though, after almost six centuries here, wherever we are, I've come to know there's more to our fates than we've dreamt. What we become next I can't say, and you can't either. But I simply can't believe it's just the end." Eleanor stood, packed away what was left of their twilight picnic, strapped into her snowshoes. She bent to kiss Caroline on the cheek. "I'll see you for second breakfast?"

"Yes. Can we have bacon? I think I need bacon."

"As you wish." Eleanor laughed, and Caroline swatted her leg.

"Thank you for helping me. I love you."

"Love you back, my unseeing Horatio. Don't stay too long."

"I won't." She distracted herself a little longer watching her wife trek away. Beloved Eleanor - confident in herself, confident that her roll in Caroline's journey here had served its purpose.

She strained to make out the lake meters below. She couldn't. She put her head back to the stars, gazed to the heavens instead for the boundaries of her faults, and how to atone for them. After a while, and she couldn't tell you how long it had been, she of course found her answer.

Caroline chuckled. Stood, shook herself off, and began the long walk home. A restless winter wind howled and swirled the snow dust of the glacier around her, rushed through the chasm below, and departed.

* * *

Her toes were very cold when she finally arrived home. Caroline was dismayed to discover upon walking through the door that there was no crackling fire to greet her, no smell of bacon. Instead, the corners were dark. The air smelled of burnt coffee.

She shed her boots and her parka before venturing further, wondering what could account for the chill and the stillness.

Eleanor, arms clasped across her chest, came rushing from the kitchen. "I wasn't sure if I heard - is that you – "

"Yes – what's wrong?" Caroline threw on her fur-lined housecoat, struggled into her slippers.

"It's Flora – I'm afraid she's gone."


	6. Chapter 6

"Look, Mum. I've had a real banner day at school. I don't want to do this with you. I don't _care_ what you believe. I don't care what _Eleanor_ believes," Caroline insisted. "She's my daughter, and I won't have her going around with her head filled with outright lies. There's no such thing as Santa Claus. It's a ridiculous myth for the weak-minded, and that's all there is to it."

Celia rapped her knuckles sharply on the kitchen counter, inclined her head toward the entry. "Is that so?"

Caroline turned, face already falling, knowing - just knowing - what she'd see next.

Eleanor ripped off her overcoat. "You really, really need to work on keeping your temper around your mother, Caroline." She gathered a crying Flora into her arms and lifted her to her hip. "I feel badly for you, that you feel so small inside sometimes you have to say these awful things. But someday it's going to get you into trouble you can't get out of. Maybe that someday is today, in fact." She stormed up the stairs with their little girl, who'd buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

"Bloody hell." Caroline whirled, finger pointed right at Celia, tried to begin to speak.

"Don't you blame this on me, blondie." Celia held her palms up and shook her head. "Dug your own grave."

"You just can't leave me be. Ever. Can you?" Caroline choked out the words through a tightening throat.

"Alan and I just had a little chat about last night and I thought I'd ask you about it. He said you seemed rather defensive and I simply couldn't see why you had to act like that about something like Christmas."

"Whatever." Caroline huffed at her mother and turned on her heel. Her panic was growing. This was not a situation where it was best to let Eleanor stew. She'd said the wrong thing entirely, hadn't meant it at all. It was just that sometimes, when she was pressed, when things got very hard, she still wondered if she were doing right by Kate. And that was her burden, her baggage with Flora, and that's what she'd meant, but of course not what she'd said, and - she'd fucked up royally.

She started by taking the stairs two at a time, then slowed. She paused on the landing. It wouldn't help to come in hot. Or defensive. _Thanks for that reminder, Celia._

Caroline crept down the long, dark hallway toward Flora's bedroom at the end, where she heard Eleanor trying to soothe their sobbing little girl.

"But, but, buh – if there's not a Santa Claus, how will I get presents?"

One of many reasons Caroline had wanted to discourage this nonsense in the first place. To avoid Flora becoming present-obsessed. Her frustration began to overtake her panic, until she heard Eleanor casting around for an answer that split the difference. Doing her best to make both mother and daughter happy and accomplishing neither. _Why, Caroline, do you have to be such a bitch all the time?_

"Don't worry about that now, Flora. It will all work out, I promise. We are going to have a wonderful Christmas. If Santa can't – " Eleanor tapered off, restarted. "If there isn't a Santa - this –" she stopped again. "Let's just set that all aside for a moment and get you changed for nap. We'll do two books and two songs today, how does that sound?

"I – I – I don't _want_ a nap. I want Santa. I want to see Santa. He's magic and he loves me!" The last sentence registered near dog whistle range.

"I know. I know. And your mum and I also love you. Very much. Your gran Celia, and Alan, and your brothers and sisters. Flora just sit with me here on the floor for one second. Let's just sit, please. I promise we can talk about this again after your nap."

"I don't want a nap. I want Mummy!"

"I know. It's okay. I'll get her, okay? You can have your mum."

Caroline slumped against the wall. She was sure Flora had not heard the catch in Eleanor's voice at the end. She hustled into the master bedroom and skittered as far across as she could before her wife came through.

"Flora wants her mum."

"Well, you know, she's got her." Caroline fluffed a pillow that was plenty fluffy. "No need for me to get in the middle – "

"No, I don't suppose there is. Except that you already have, and now Flora wants her mum. So step to." Eleanor turned sideways, extended her hand to the open door.

"I don't think I need to at all. It's just nap time, and to be honest you're better at getting her down – "

"Yes, but she's upset, and she wants her mum." Eleanor's voice became hushed and husky. "And that's you. She's your daughter. So like I said – you should go. Now." She dropped her arm. She glanced at Caroline, then to the ground as the tears finally started. "You should go to Flora. Please go. Just get out of this room and get out of my sight."

Eleanor had never dismissed her. Always the contrary. She'd always insisted Caroline stay and face whatever mess she created.

"Yes, alright." Caroline crossed the room. She paused in front of Eleanor, didn't say anything, couldn't catch her eye. She left, went to Flora.

"Mummy!" Flora grabbed both of Caroline's hands as soon as she came through the door. She had snot crusted across her face, tear tracks smeared over it as well. "You're _wrong_. There is a Santa. He loves me, and he's going to bring me what I want for Christmas."

Caroline bent to one knee, ran a useless thumb at Flora's face. "Okay. First let's get you cleaned and ready for your nap."

Moments later Flora was in much cleaner, if not more stable condition.

"There is a Santa."

Caroline sat next to her on the bed and smoothed the covers. "There isn't, but that's okay. Because your mother and I, and your family, we're here and very real. And we love you – and I promise there will be presents."

"But what about the elves and the reindeer?"

"Have you ever met an elf, or seen a flying reindeer, Flora?"

"No."

"Do you remember last Christmas?"

"Yes. I got a Shaun sheep stuffy and also Bitzer. And mum made potatoes, and two kinds of pies and a pudding, and we sang Frosty as many times as I wanted."

"Do you remember that we didn't have Santa last year?"

"Are you sure," Flora asked, as she began to pick at the wooly Shaun stuffy. She smiled at him, and addressed him now, instead of Caroline. "Because I got the coloring book with Peppa – "

"Your mums gave you those things. And your brothers, and everyone else."

"Oh."

"Do you think it matters, Flora, if there isn't a Santa? With your mum and me, and your family here to love you?"

Flora picked up Shaun's best friend Bitzer, arranged the stuffies together under the covers next to her, and began humming Frosty. "No, I guess. But what about if you don't have a family?"

" _We_ do for them, Flora, as best we can. It's up to us to love and to help people who have less, and who are alone. We can't pawn that responsibility off on magic or mythology. You need to be kind and good to children who aren't as lucky as you, right?"

"Right." She sighed, a tiny little heartbreaking sound. "I love you Mum."

Caroline slid her hands under Flora's small body and hugged her tightly. "I love you too. Would you tell Mum you love her as well, before you go to sleep? Maybe ask if she'd sing you a song – I'm sure she'd do Frosty with you."

Flora smiled wide, finally, a big genuine one, and giggled when Caroline tickled her sides. "Yessss."

"Alright. Let me go fetch her." Caroline gave one last hug, then went through to the master to find Eleanor. No luck. She went downstairs, poked her head into the kitchen, the office, the laundry room, the dining room.

Finally, Celia finally spoke up from the couch in the living room. "If you're looking for Eleanor, she's long gone. Can' t say I blame her."


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh – I think that's my tea." Eleanor hadn't quite heard who'd been called but went ahead and wrestled through the crowd at Bean and Bud. She reached for the cup of peppermint served up by the barista. A young woman went for it simultaneously, and held tight, despite Eleanor's claim.

"It's not either one of yours - it's his, actually," the barista interrupted. A thin man with a thin nose in a grey suit jostled between the two women to grab the mug, muttered apologies that did not sound authentic to Eleanor, and absconded with the tea she'd thought was hers.

"Of course we all have peppermint. It's so _seasonal_." The pleasant-looking girl leaned on the last word. It didn't bend under the pressure but cracked into brittle pieces. She didn't seem the type to be cynical. Her brown eyes were too large, her lashes too long, her hair too loved and neatly braided.

Eleanor felt compelled to respond, perhaps secure a foul temperament at the holidays co-conspirator. She was in quite a mood to run-down the concept of joy after Caroline's latest stunt. "I was actually going to have lavender, but the cashier strong-armed me into changing up."

"They must be overstocked. Or commissioned."

"How can anyone your age be so cynical at Christmas," Eleanor asked.

"Cynical is all anyone is, at my age. My mum says it wears off after –" the girl cut herself off, and the edges of her upper lips curled, and it reminded Eleanor of – her thought evaporated as the girl finished, "My mum says the cynicism wears off."

"I don't know." Eleanor's wife came immediately to mind. "I think perhaps it calcifies."

"Now who's the grinch?" The girl smiled, finally. Her nose scrunched, and her eyes did as well.

Again, Eleanor felt too familiar. She was cute. Perhaps she just had one of those faces you wanted to feel like you knew.

The barista set up another cup, "Peppermint for Flora."

Eleanor watched, too shocked to speak, as the young woman fetched her tea. Eleanor touched her on the elbow as she came back by. "Your name's Flora?"

"Yes." Flora held out her hand.

"Eleanor." She smiled as they shook. Her harried afternoon was almost – not quite – but almost forgotten in this moment of serendipity. She'd wanted to be alone in a crowded place, but now she wanted to talk to this Flora. The misplaced familiarity of the girl placed itself but was now far more confusing. The woman was spot-on Flora in twenty years. "That's my – daughter's – name as well. And you look – I can't quite believe it, actually."

Eleanor's tea appeared, and Flora collected it for her, then gestured to a cramped table in the sunny corner near the front window. "Perhaps we can share, if you're not taking to-go?"

"I was going to stay." She'd wanted to walk, and never stop moving, but honestly it was far too cold outside. Steam rose from the storm drains and the rooftops. Even in her lined gloves and boots Eleanor had begun to freeze.

They sat. Eleanor did a thing she hated very much from others, started the strangers on a plane who don't ask if you want to talk instant conversation. "Are you out shopping?"

"No," Flora replied. She looked at Eleanor curiously, almost in the way Eleanor had been sneaking glances at her all along. "I'm kind of – traveling. Bit of a quest."

"At the holidays? Are you away from family?" _Now you're just being creepy, Eleanor. Stop it._

"I am – but – I'm kind of overdosed on Christmas. I love it to bits. But it can be intense."

"Yes."

"You're not with _your_ family today?" The girl with the chestnut doe-eyes made obvious notice of Eleanor's ring, which was hard to miss. "With your – wife?"

"Oh. Umm – no. I mean, yes, not out with my wife." Flora was so direct – but unassuming. Eleanor liked her quite a lot.

"It was the eye contact. And the handshake. Gives it away every time," Flora winked. It was familiar but not too much. It was sweet and knowing and comforting in a way that outpaced her youth. "I've got two mums of my own."

"Oh. I see." Eleanor couldn't collect herself to say anything more. At least she'd stopped with the assault of personal questions.

Flora wrapped her hands around her mug. Over a picture of Fred Flintstone next to a Christmas tree was printed in white block letters, "Bad timing." She blew over the top. "They always have to pour it thermonuclear with the crummy bagged teas. But it's worse when they annihilate the loose leaf with scalding water."

"I couldn't possibly agree more." How many conversations had Eleanor struck up with strangers over the years? In hotel bars, airport bars, airplanes, trains, waiting in deathly long rental-car lines. Of them she could remember perhaps two or three. Women she'd met and really wanted to talk to. Felt as though she were learning something, changing and growing and speaking with a kindred rather than just killing time and in the back of her mind dimly judging the fate of humanity. Much like a woman she had once met in Munich, Eleanor found that she could sit at this sunny little table in the bustling coffee shop while everyone else did unimportant things and talk with Flora until they closed and be sad when they did, for realizing there was no civilized way to say she didn't want their time together to end.

"Big family day to be out. Are you buying secret presents and left the clan at home," Flora asked.

"Not exactly. As you said, holidays can be intense. Just needed a breath of fresh air."

"You might say we're in the very same boat, Eleanor. In my case, I had to get away from my mother."

"Which one?" Eleanor leaned her elbows on the table, closer to Flora.

"The autocrat with the wrong priorities."

"We must have booked an entire passage across the Atlantic together in our little boat."

"I'm sorry." Flora reached over and gave Eleanor's forearm a quick squeeze. The gesture reminded her of her grandmother Abigail. "It hurts more to fight at Christmas."

"I feel like I ought to be comforting you," Eleanor said, more abashed but ever more taken by her fortune at meeting this woman, right at this time that she had felt so very low.

"We can do for each other and see where it gets us, then settle up. So what did your wife do to draw you on the outside?"

"Well – " Eleanor turned to the window, spared one more glance at her youthful yoda, then stared into her tea. "We have a daughter, and we're married. But Caroline – that's my wife – " Flora nodded, and those thin upper lips curled again – "Flora, our Flora, was Caroline's already before we married. I've adopted her, and it's all legal. I'm her mum. In every way. But Caroline's temper got the better of her and she said - some things -" Eleanor had to stop. In a way, as it always did, speaking aloud and summarizing the events made them seem so much less dramatic. But the conclusion of them – relating what Caroline had done - she physically could not speak the words, no matter how many different ways she tried to arrange and diffuse them.


	8. Chapter 8

"Where do you think Flora's gone?" Caroline bent to the fire before attending anything else. The embers from the last were still glowing under a thin layer of gray ash. She blew gently, added paper, kindling, stacking and bellowing until she had more to work with.

"She's looking for something. She always has been. Since she came to us," Eleanor replied, sitting next to her on the wide brick hearth.

Caroline poked harder at the fire until the fresh wood met cinder and sparked and popped. "Or someone? Perhaps she's made good on her threat and gone back to 'her people,' since we've become so loathsome."

"Don't put words in her mouth. She's hurting as badly as you are. It's the only reason she'd say those things."

"It's not even that. I can't believe that she truly doesn't believe – that she has no faith in anything. I don't care what it is. I just want her to have something to hold to."

"Okay let's stop with the rehashing and hyperbole. Let's focus on where she might have gone." Eleanor delicately removed the iron poker from Caroline's hands. She laid it aside and held hers out. "Come eat breakfast."

"I can't eat."

"Yes you can. And I've made scones. They'll help. I promise."

"Scones?"

"I found a recipe in an old cook book from my mother. The binding is gone and the paper fading too, but I could make it out. I remember, vaguely, that we'd have them in the afternoons with cream and jam."

"I suppose I could at least try one," Caroline rumbled, following her wife into the kitchen. It had been a long journey that morning.

"I suppose you could." Eleanor set a cup of tea and plate in front of Caroline, with two plump, golden scones, strawberry jam, and a thick, fresh-looking cream.

The crust was rugged, browned and delicate. The pale inside warm, soft and resilient. She'd had one of these too, ages ago. The memory was old but the taste not far when she put her nose to the sweet, buttery quick bread.

She handed one half to Eleanor and both dolloped cream and jam.

"Eleanor these are divine."

"They are good, aren't they? I'm glad you mentioned them. The recipe was plain, but I added some rosemary in there for you."

"Not lavender?" Caroline chewed thoughtlessly, in the conversation but already distracted by something – a pleasant impression of spice. She began to feel out of sorts but very happy. And safe, and sleepy. "Flora's not here."

"No?"

"She's when I was," Caroline said, staring over Eleanor's shoulder. "In England."

"Should you go to her, or let her be?"

Caroline took another bite of the scone, licked a smear of shining red jam from her finger. "I think things are going well for her. I think I need to see Kate, actually."

The edge of Eleanor's spoon caught the pot of jam and a little clang rang out.

Caroline started and smiled. "Oh. I drifted there for a second, didn't I? Thank you."

"I had a feeling it was down to this." Eleanor turned away. She refilled her tea cup at the range and didn't turn back again.

Caroline sighed. She felt old. She was hoping Kate wouldn't have to come into this. But as soon as Flora had mentioned returning home she'd begun to worry. Her marriage could handle Kate, she could handle it. It was that Caroline didn't want to mark her last days on Earth with Eleanor, if that's what it came to, rubbing salt in old wounds. "This next won't be easy, will it?"

"No. It won't." Eleanor smoothed both sides of the jammy spoon over her last of the half scone and slid it between her lips. "Would you like to finish anything here before you head out?"

"I would very much like to finish things here," Caroline said, before she could even think about it. She caught her wife's crackling brown eyes as Eleanor headed for the stairs. "You shouldn't do that," she scolded.

"You shouldn't presume to tell me how to bake," Eleanor retorted. "You'd be lying if you said you didn't catch a little edge under the rosemary. And I won't send you to her without – saying goodbye."

Caroline took her arm and held it. "I'm sorry. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Eleanor tensed and pulled back. "Mind that you are."

"It's just the past. There's nothing there for me - not really. Everything that matters is here."

"I'm not the one who needs to hear that."

Caroline pulled her down from the stairs, took Eleanor by the shoulders. She tried meeting her eyes, smiling, because words were only words here, and she had no reassurance to offer. She hadn't come back last time she'd gone to Kate.

Eleanor didn't smile at her. Instead, she grabbed a fistfull of Caroline's shirt. Her voice came from far back in her throat, raw and not beautiful and clear the way it should be. "It's only that she's always the one to leave you. You never would have come to me, if she hadn't left. Either time. I know you love me. But I wonder that you don't love her more."

Caroline shook her head. She wanted to be angry and frustrated, but it wasn't her right. "I don't love her more. I loved her. And I love you. I see who we are and what we have more clearly now than I ever have. All I can ask for is your trust."

"You mean my faith," Eleanor said, letting go of her hold.

"Yes," Caroline answered. "For your faith." It would be best to let Eleanor be for a minute. "Let me build up the fire. I'll be right there."

"Don't you dare get distracted and make me wait." Eleanor paused at the landing.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Caroline met her at the staircase for a quick kiss that turned into a longer one, and now Eleanor's wanting hands were places that called for careful removal. She tapped Eleanor's shoulder and pulled herself away. "Let me just – "

"We agreed no shoulder taps. Ever."

"What else did you put in those scones? You're unusually feisty this morning," Caroline said.

"I don't know exactly what's going on. It's more than jealousy. But I like it." Eleanor twirled and climbed away.

"I think I like it?" Caroline remarked to the crackling fire. She grabbed a round of imported madrona by a jutting knot and placed it with a thunk on the snapping fir. "That should keep us going for a while."

She sat at the hearth watching the fire dance. She followed the birth of the flames at the white-hot center until they flitted into red-orange nothing at the black mouth of the chimney. It was a dangerous thing to return to your past. There was no dramatic chance of instant annihilation for altering events. It was only that you learned things about yourself, and others, you might prefer to leave in the past. To be reminded of who you'd been and what you could have become, to be reminded of your flesh and blood truths, could overwhelm. Manipulating time had the effect of muting your impression of its passage and what seemed quickly to become real threatened to entrap you forever. Staying too long or delving too deep risked making your soul too heavy, too entrenched for the return.

The same was true for travel to the mortal world, though Flora had become the best at it she'd ever known. In short order she'd be wise enough to attempt to move through the time axis as well as the place. If, that was, she chose to stay with Caroline and Eleanor at all.

That tore it for Caroline, despite the risk of the journey. If she stayed here, didn't try to find the answers, and Flora didn't return by Christmas, she and Eleanor would be succeeded by another family. When that happened, their time on earth, in any form, would come to an end. It was worth facing the danger and risking the joy and the shame of her past.

Eleanor had been right. There were things Caroline wanted to finish before she left. She felt thin and brittle and scared and did not want to go without a decent goodbye. There would be no shoulder tapping, no matter how long her lusty wife wanted to take in wrapping up.


	9. Chapter 9

Spending time with this Flora who wasn't hers quelled Eleanor's immediate anger, but deepened her pain. She'd cared for her daughter, her Flora, right off. She'd grown to love her, in time. And with more time began not to just think of her as her daughter, but to know and love her as her daughter with a ferocity that matched June and Lily.

Today Caroline had made her ashamed of the depth of feeling she had for Flora. Love could be an embarrassing thing, if you made yourself vulnerable and gave in to it and were for some reason then found lacking - or put in your place. Emma had taught her that well enough. She had been judged by Caroline and found lacking, when it came to Flora. Eleanor was angry, she knew, only because she was also deeply ashamed.

Flora let her have her silence. She'd looked contemplative while Eleanor pulled herself together. Her gaze had traveled to the window adorned in green tinsel garland. Her eye seemed to catch every bright shopping bag that streamed by on arms and coats and in strollers, but what she thought of them didn't seem to be favor for the material trappings of the season.

"What Caroline said was wrong," she offered. "Terrible and wrong. But I hope not unforgivable, for Flora's sake. She's your little girl. She needs you, Eleanor. And that's more important than your wife making a careless ass of herself, isn't it?"

Looking at grown-up Flora immediately across from her now, when Eleanor imagined missing even one more single second of her daughter's life, she knew she simply couldn't. Nothing that Caroline might do or say, in the paper-cut way she had of moving through the world, would be worth a second away from Flora.

"You're a very wise young lady."

"I'm more mature than I look."

"I hope you didn't come by that the hard way." Eleanor found herself inexplicably alarmed.

"No. Not at all. Not that we don't learn the best lessons the hard way – but I suppose I maybe had a better perspective on it all? That's down to my mums, no doubt about that."

"Good. I owe them a thank-you. So what could have they have done to have driven you traveling at the one time of year we're most supposed to be at home?"

Flora's long lashes wet, and for the first time Eleanor felt the adult in the room.

"Now that is a very long story. The shortest version is that I'm not interested in the family business, and the family business goes back for quite a few generations. It's all we've ever done, really."

"Mmmm. Breaking tradition I understand. It doesn't mean you owe them anything, but it can be devastating for parents to feel they've let down everyone who came before them – that everyone else succeeded, and they're the ones who've failed at their most important job. Perhaps their only job." Poor Margaret lost a half-kilo and an hour off her life anytime anyone brought up the inevitable sale of Strathclyde manor. All three grandchildren had sworn to divest, and none seemed remotely keen on changing her mind.

"That's sort of the argument my other mum likes to make." Flora reached for a napkin and dabbed her eyes. "Minus the owing thing. She's set that I owe Mum – and others – to at least give it a go at taking the reins."

"Are you sure you're not just scared?"

"Very good question. My brother accuses me of that non-stop. I think I'm not scared of the responsibility – maybe more that I'm scared of who I might become, if I do what my mum wants?"

"Well who do you want to become," Eleanor asked, genuinely interested in the answer.

"This. I want to do this. I want to travel and meet you. Or - I mean, people like you. People. I want to know the world. It's not terribly practical. But it's all I want. Would you want it as well, if you could just travel anywhen - I mean, anywhere, you could?"

"Perhaps when I was younger. Now I wouldn't dream of leaving. In fact, I can't seem to find a way to spend enough time at home." Eleanor finished her tea. She wanted to order more because she wanted to stay with Flora. But she was also worried that if she got up from the table, it would prompt some sort of convenient parting. "Is there no one else who could take over? Your brother you mentioned? Step in and preserve the legacy. Assuming it's a legacy worth preserving."

Flora shifted in her wooden chair. She was silent, and Eleanor was too, and it wasn't uncomfortable. The shop thrummed with the merry anxiety of Christmas until Flora spoke again. "It's down to me, I'm afraid. If I can't take it on, we'll have to transfer ownership, I suppose is the best way to put it."

"Well that doesn't seem the most dire outcome."

"I don't know. I gather it's rather complicated. Mum's always been vague about it. Probably didn't want to give me any easy out." Flora pressed the tea bag inside her empty mug. Rivulets of weak brown water ran down the side.

"After spending an entire half-hour with you, I wouldn't guess your parents were the type to obscure facts to manipulate you. But we all muddle the lines sometimes, when it comes to protecting our children."

"I don't know what they could be protecting me from. It's not bad, what we do. It really isn't. I know I've been vague, and maybe you think it's because it's illicit in some way. It's just sort of – complex. And I'd rather you drop a little more wisdom on me than spend time explaining it."

Eleanor laughed out loud. "I can't help but feel, Flora, that you've been much more helpful to me than I've been to you."

"But we're not done yet, are we? I need another cup, and this time I won't let the cashier wheedle me off my first choice."

It was near dark by the time they'd finished their third cup. While Eleanor had made up her mind earlier in the conversation about what to do with Caroline, her feeling had had time to set with the sun and during the long afternoon. And for some reason, Flora made her miss Caroline, which she quickly accounted for as just not wanting to be lonely at the end of this lovely chat.

"Where are you traveling next? Home?" Eleanor was collecting her bag and bundling for the cold and generally stalling.

"Nah. I think I might enjoy the warm weather down here a little longer. Though – you've made me miss my mums terribly. And I wouldn't have said that were possible."

"It's so persistent, this loving people thing. I hope you settle with your family. There's no getting time back, once it's gone."

"No. You're very right about that," Flora said softly.

"May I hug you," Eleanor asked.

"Please. An extra good one. We both need it." Flora opened her arms wide.

It was the most amazing hug Eleanor might have ever had. "That did help. Thank you. I'm very, very glad to have met you, Flora – "

"Just Flora is fine. And I feel like I've known you my whole life. So let's just say I'm glad to see you."

"Yes." Eleanor hunted around the table and chairs. "Have you misplaced your coat?"

"No. Just got the base layer for the trip. Should do me fine."

"Alright. Well – " Eleanor hunted through her bag and drew out her card holder. She handed one to Flora. "In case you need anything – at all – while you're 'down here.'"

Flora darted in and kissed Eleanor on the cheek. "You know, you're magnificent, Eleanor Strathclyde. And your Caroline and Flora are very lucky." She tapped the card against her palm. "Perhaps I will drop in. I'd like to meet them." She squeezed Eleanor's elbow once more and went quickly through the door.

Eleanor crossed her arms and scowled after her, then smiled. Had she told Flora her last name? She must've at some point.

She went over to the tip jar and made a nice contribution for rental of the table all afternoon. She smiled all the way to the Rover, though her troubles at home were black, bold typeset in her mind. Again, the pain lingered. But Flora seemed to have absolved her of her shame. She got in the car, fired it up and turned up the heat and the seat.

Eleanor fished her mobile out of her bag. She had two missed calls from Caroline but no messages. She clicked the overhead light, put on her readers, and began typing.

 _"I haven't forgiven you for what you've done. I will, and it will be fine. But I'd like it if you weren't home when I got there, please, if Celia or Alan or Greg or Jane could be there. I'd like Flora to myself tonight. Perhaps you could sleep in the guest room. I'll change the sheets and leave pajamas out for you, and I'll text when I've gone to bed."_

She put the mobile back in her bag. There was only one response that was acceptable, and Caroline Dawson knew what it was. She also knew she could change her own damn sheets and get her own pajamas. If she didn't, she'd be down one wife and sharing custody of Flora by the New Year.

It was dark, but still early and Caroline needed time to clear out of the house. Eleanor put the car in gear and sighed mightily as she pulled onto the road with a very specific errand in mind. There was only one way she was going to get around to forgiveness tonight, and that was by doing something generous for someone else. In this case, her faithless wife.


	10. Chapter 10

Hundreds of candles lit the stone bridge between the arrival point and the peninsula where Kate and her family had dwelled for millennia. Beneath it was a river, she knew, but it was always covered in an impenetrable swirling mist. Everything in Caroline's world was ancient, but Kate's had kept a primal air to it that reminded her not of how many years had passed for civilization but how many epochs humans and spirits had inhabited the Earth.

The arched wooden double doors to the entry courtyard creaked and swung open as she approached. How many times had she crossed this threshold? She felt the silent ghosts of herself whirl by.

"Caroline. You don't know how happy it makes me to see you." Kate emerged from the central building facing the gates, her arms wide and wearing a smile that concealed absolutely nothing.

"Same here. I've missed you Kate. I really have." Caroline wrapped her up and choked out a little sob.

"Is this an occasion for crying?" She grabbed Caroline's shoulders and studied her. "You didn't say. I knew there was something big, obviously, for you to make the journey, but – " Kate's soft eyes widened. Around them the torches on the massive sconces flickered and the mists from the river stormed over the walls of the courtyard. "It's not Flora."

"No. It is – but not like that. She's absolutely fine. She's wonderful." Caroline put her arms around her again and drew her close. Kate in pain had never seemed right. Always seemed at odds with the natural order of things and Caroline had always rushed to solve whatever troubled her. "It's only that it's so wonderful to see you."

"Alright. Okay." Kate took her hand and led her down the cozy path lying between two of the largest buildings in the small village, the library and the theater. "Then what's so important? I know Eleanor would never have agreed to this unless the stakes were quite high."

"Yes. Well," Caroline tripped over herself hunting for a smooth transition, before remembering the package she had tucked in her bag. "Eleanor sent you a gift, actually. Baklava."

"She remembered?" Kate opened the door to her cottage and waved her through.

Caroline paused. She'd imagined being here again. Many, many times. But imagining meant nothing compared to the familiar smell of night jasmine floating through the open windows, or the welcoming buttercream walls adorned with textiles, paintings, and family portraits. The door to the garden stood open and she almost gasped when she saw a five-year-old Flora giggling as she came through, only to realize it was only a memory. Little had changed since she'd left.

"She's not one to forget things," Caroline finally replied. "Even the extra pistachio. She did say it's really an excellent batch. Though, you might find yourself feeling a little – combative."

"Well, like you said – she's not one to forget things, is she?" Kate laughed, and it made Caroline laugh too. She took the offered parcel into the kitchen.

She set down her bag and took her favorite spot on the plush sofa directly opposite a life-size oil portrait of Flora at age three. Kate had painted their little girl toddling through the garden, spring flowers shooting up around her, clutching a white daisy in her small fist.

Kate came back through and sat next to her. She tucked Caroline's hair behind her ears and took both her hands. Her touch and fingertips were just as cool as they had ever been. "This can't be easy. Seeing me again after all these years. Tell me what's happened."

"I need your help. I don't know how yet, but I know it's vital. Flora's refused to carry on with us. She's turned on me, in fact. She's said she wants to come home – here. And now she's gone traveling. I don't think she'll be back for Christmas."

"That's quite bad, isn't it? If she doesn't return you'll fade. You and Eleanor both. She'd never allow that."

"She wouldn't, if she knew. We never told her, though," Caroline admitted. She could confess anything to Kate. "I wanted the choice to be her own."

"Oh Caroline." Kate clutched her hands more firmly and pulled them into her lap. "I don't know if I agree with that decision. It was yours to make, but I don't know if it was the right one."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Kate insisted. "Like I said – the choice was yours. I gave Flora's care to you and Eleanor with all the trust in my heart. We're not to the end of it yet. You may still end up on the right side of things."

"I don't know. I know where I've gone wrong. But I don't know how to fix it. Our girl can be, ehm, stubborn." Caroline couldn't help when she started laughing again. It was a miracle, being here. She felt giddy despite the situation that led her here and she'd only ever felt frothy when she was with Kate in the first place.

Caroline stood hastily, crossed her arms and went to the window to look at the garden that was always vibrant. It was dark, but the moon shone down bright. The organic shapes of the flowers, their shadows soft against the walls, rounded the edges of her emotions. Her trip to the past was already becoming dangerous to her present.

Kate joined her at the window and peered out into the night garden. "Let's walk."

"Yes. Let's."

Down still, small paths littered with leaves they made their way peacefully through the night. Past magenta explosions of bougainvillea, patches rampant with white tulips and yellow daises, vivid aviaries of birds of paradise, heady gardenia that had run the size of shrubs and over the stone walls. The flora at Kate's was almost as nonsensical as it was abundant. Everything was lush at any time of year and responded more to their keeper's touch than any concept of season.

Morning came around as they made their way along. It was a calm, cool evening, and then it was brilliant daylight, fields of green hills bounded by golden waving plains dashing away up gentle hillsides to the horizon. At some point, Caroline's hand found Kate's. They walked for a while that way until they reached the orchard. Kate pulled down an orange for Caroline. She put it right to her nose and every sense came alive as the sunny citrus oil coated her every breath.

When the light of the sun began to warm the air, Caroline found herself ready to take shelter. She ducked and pulled Kate under the low canopy of an ancient fig tree. It had been fully fledged before Caroline had even come on the scene hundreds of years ago.

They sat in the shade against the smooth trunk. The light penetrated the wide leaves of the canopy here and there and dappled the women's legs and bare feet. Kate reached up through the soft green leaves and plucked a ripe, full fruit. Deep wine skin, she split it delicately with her thumbs and offered Caroline half.

Caroline took it and they ate several more until the sun was high above them. She looked down and met Kate's eyes. Generous and calm. Her head rested in Caroline's lap now. Kate gazing at the blue sky and laughing with the passing breezes. A broad leaf from a low branch came spinning down to perch next to them.

They should not be like this. Then again neither of them had planned it. This was always how it happened with Kate. Caroline giggling and oblivious until she was gasping and oblivious.

"I can't stay here, can I?" Caroline asked out loud but only because she knew the answer.

"I'm afraid you can't." Kate said. "Even you can't live in the past forever. But we can make the most of it, can't we? It's still lovely to visit."

"It's more than lovely. You're still everywhere for me, Kate," Caroline admitted. "You were my first true love. I've never been able to let that go. Without you, I would have died long ago. There'd be no magic and no Eleanor. I'm convinced of that. I needed you to be in my life in order to find my way. You're where I discovered faith."

"But if I were still with you, there wouldn't be an Eleanor."

"God plays it close to the vest, sometimes."

"Oh don't start with that." Kate rolled her eyes at Caroline, then smiled. "You and your God."

"I know you're not a believer," Caroline answered the jab. "But I've done quite well out of the whole keeper of Christmas arrangement. One could do a lot worse than devoting themselves to bringing more faith and love to the world."

"Or to the arts and sciences." Kate grinned and put a finger to the tip of Caroline's nose. "I don't know who's right or wrong. I don't think it matters. Maybe everything's just better with all of it in the world."

"It's definitely better when we're together," Caroline conceded. "And since I can't stay, Kate, please help me. What am I going to do with Flora?"

"Ah. I've been laying here thinking about that. I wonder if you're missing the obvious? Are you sure that our Flora's the only one who can do it? I've never been sold on that 'it's in the blood business' coming from your people. Seems awfully convenient for keeping undesirables out. You're the only lot that hasn't ever had a spirit of color at the helm."

"I thought about that - but Kate it's not easy to do - to bring a mortal over." Caroline had thought of it as a solution. It was, after all, how Eleanor had come to her. "But the sacrifice, the commitment is enormous. Leaving everyone behind. There's no going back from it, and to ask that of anyone when there's no guarantees - " She'd asked it of Eleanor, who'd given everything to cross over, only to have Caroline betray her so thoroughly. Her world wasn't one lightly endured by mortals.

"Yes. You're right. But there's reward, too, in our lives and the way we love."

"There is." Caroline finally gave way and let herself remember loving Kate. That first ecstatic night. Awkward fumbles that had quickly given way to confident explorations over endless hours that sped by. When the sun finally crested the horizon, Caroline was a new woman, with no intention of letting even a centimeter of space between her bare body and Kate's until she'd -

Her mouth flooded with the taste of lavender. Caroline coughed, then burped.

Kate started to giggle. "That must have been quite a moment you just had. What did you eat before you traveled? Eleanor stir in a last-ditch safeguard?"

"She's a jealous and wrathful goddess."

"In the image of her maker?"

"Stop. You pick and choose the worst of our texts, but you still won't cop to that monster Ayn Rand. Just enjoy your faithless paradise and leave me be."

"I could never leave you be." Kate sat up. She put a hand to the side of Caroline's face.

"I know." Caroline leaned into it. She took it, kissed it, then stood. "If I'm ever going to go it has to be right now. You'll tell me more about your Flora idea as we walk home. How long have we been - ?" She looked around. It was sunset now. The once golden hills bled scarlet through the long valley.

They emerged from under the fig tree. Kate looked to the periwinkle sky and her eyes rested on the evening star. "Two days."

Caroline whistled. "Are you sure you won't trade places with me and be the first one through the door at Svalbard?"

"Not even to regain my immortality would I face your wife right now. You're made of sterner stuff than I am. For better or worse is how your saying goes?"

Caroline put an arm around Kate's shoulder, kissed her on the temple as they walked on. "I found my faith with you and I lost it by you. I don't think anyone but Eleanor could have restored it after it was broken."

"I'm sorry for the some of the turns our paths took. But I'm grateful for every second we walked them."

"Me too. I'm glad we're got this last one together again and that it will take us a while yet to get home." Caroline took Kate's hand and clenched it tight, swung it between them and smiled at her. "Once more for auld lang syne, Kate. I love you."

"I love you, Caroline."


	11. Chapter 11

Harrogate itself seemed as intent on shunning Caroline as Eleanor did at the moment. It was bitter cold and her hands had practically frozen during the quick walk from the Jeep. The wind whipped the door at the Old Bell from her hand and slammed it shut as she stepped through. The cozy pub was lit by laughter and yelled conversations. A duo wedged in the corner sang and sawed out _Must Be Santa_ on guitar and fiddle. Good and loud was what she wanted, and she'd found it. Jane was on-duty but offered to let Caroline utilize her place as a dog house for the night. She'd accepted but promptly fled because she couldn't bear to be alone in a bachelorette pad stewing in her misery two weeks before Christmas.

She stepped up to the bar. One of the dark-haired young man behind it cupped an ear at her. She shouted across the dark polished wood. "Guinness. And a Balv – " she reconsidered her back. Not having it. Just the call. She'd need something to help her sleep on Jane's disaster of a sofa, and she also intended to wake up with a headache. "Guinness, and an Oban. Neat. Thank you."

The young man nodded. Caroline watched the black stout ripple down the glass, foam tan and begin to settle up. Not half as gorgeous as the gold he poured into the bucket beside it.

"That'll be fifteen."

She took a sip of her scotch and eyed him. "Oh no that's fine. Santa Claus has got this round."

"Ma'am it's busy in here. If you want a tab, I'll need a card."

"You're saying you won't accept – "

"I've got her." A woman in a red and white flannel at Caroline's side laid down twenty.

Caroline turned, ready to be rude, then stopped. If Celia had ever looked anything like Caroline, she'd be this woman right down to the last inch. Thick white hair in layers to her square chin, cheekbones she knew other women hated her for, and eyes so blue you only found them in Britain.

"Hey – " she called out as the other woman collected her drinks and started away.

"I've got the two armchairs back here. Only place to sit, so you're stuck with me."

The tall leather wingbacks looked comfy and far enough apart that with all the raucous revelry conversation would be difficult. "Alright. Thank you for the drinks. I'll be happy to get your next round."

"No need." The woman sank down into the far chair and managed to look so snug Caroline might have thought it was built for her.

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

"You have better manners than I had at your age. You're married?"

"Yes. I am." _For now,_ thought Caroline.

"And you've done something stupid, which is why you're here at half eight two Saturdays before Christmas double fisting it, rather than at home curled up with your wife in front of a roaring fire?"

Caroline did not respond.

The other woman raised her pint. "Takes one to know one."

"Does it?" Caroline utilized those good manners. She accepted the toast and took a sip. Then she took a drink. This would do nicely to keep her warm tonight. She dabbed her lip with a napkin and started to rummage in her bag for her cell phone -

"It'll work out." The other woman settled her elbows on her knees and leaned toward her, as though she meant to keep talking.

"Will it?" The chairs were not so far apart as Caroline thought they'd been. Her companion didn't raise her voice but she heard her very clearly. Still, the crush of people in the crowded room kept jostling her and she found it exceptionally annoying. Along with having to make conversation with this woman, no matter how odd or intriguing she thought their resemblance. "And how would you know?"

Her new intrusive friend tilted her chin down and only gazed at Caroline.

"Right. Takes one to know one." She answered her own question and was by now almost half-way through her pint. Eleanor was always going on and on about how much money they had, so she'd spoil herself tonight until she was ashamed of that, too. She'd Lyft to Jane's, or the next bar, if it suited her. She'd do whatever she damn well pleased. And then she'd wake up from this nightmare in the morning not having done any of the shit-for-brains things she'd done today.

"She'll forgive you. You wouldn't have married her if she wouldn't. Because you knew you'd always be putting your foot in it."

Caroline looked up from her mobile, this time laying it aside. "I'm sorry – I don't think I caught your name?" Or how the woman felt she had a right to pick her apart so thoroughly while listening to two idiots without a drum murder _Little Drummer Boy._

"It's ehm – you can call me Liz."

"You go by _my_ middle name, do you?" Caroline had had enough. "Is this a shakedown – or a joke? I don't appreciate it."

"Do a lot of cons start with a thief buying the drinks?"

"As a matter of fact, they do. _Liz_."

"Oh." The woman appeared unfazed. "Well I'm not shaking you down. Like I said I'm neck deep myself. Right now, I'm only half a pint ahead of you. So I'm not to the laughing or crying bit of the evening."

"Just wait. I have a feeling we'll both be there soon enough." She sipped and then swapped for the scotch. She took a good share, didn't wait for it to age in her mouth and sucked her teeth. The sensation was just right.

"Past, present, or future," Liz asked.

Caroline sat back with her tumbler cradled and warming in her hands. "Because of my past I've said something idiotic about my present situation. Outlook for the immediate future not bright."

"The past is a real bitch. And not in a good way. I'm wrestling with that myself."

She couldn't have asked for a better companion tonight. Cut right to the heart of it. She noticed Liz's empty pint. "I really will buy your next round."

"How about waters this time? Because I think I have a better idea for the rest of your night."

Caroline glared at the other woman. She seemed too wise to be so jovial. "Just what are you playing at?"

"Nothing. God's honest truth." Liz crossed her heart. Then she did something she'd only ever seen Celia do, and crossed her neck too.

An odd idiosyncrasy to pick up. "You're toying with me. Did Jane put you up to this?" Caroline whipped around in the arm chair, expecting to see her friend doubled over, laughing her ass off, and pointing at her. But she wasn't. Just happy pub patrons clapping along with the dynamic duo in the corner, all generally having an excellent time.

"I'm not toying with you. I've taken a liking to you is all there is to it and figured you're smart enough to take a lesson from your elders."

Caroline swiped their empty pints, scowled at Liz, but fetched two waters from the bar.

She returned and sat, ready to settle in to a conversation with someone who seemed practical enough and worthy of it.

"Liz - did you believe in Santa Claus, when you were a child?"

"Ah. That's the big question of the day?"

"Yes. I don't understand it. I felt so betrayed, when I found out he's not real."

"Of course, a man gets all the credit." Liz rolled her eyes.

"Right." What did that have anything to do with anything? "I suppose I hadn't thought of it – that way. Since it's all bullshit to start."

Liz kept her blue eyes steady on Caroline. "You're not one for the whole Santa represents the generosity of the human spirit and the wonder of the unknown angle?"

"Isn't that what Jesus is supposed to be?"

"It's a wonder anyone married you," Liz laughed. "You know they couldn't throw out all the traditions. Santa here, fairy lights there. It all adds to the spirit of the season. Seemed to get the job done. You can't argue with success, now can you, Caroline?"

"I suppose not," she admitted, ready to go at things another way. "Do you and your wife have children?"

Liz smiled. The old wing back seemed to wrap itself right around her when she sat back. She looked almost like she ought to be smoking a pipe. "We do. Five between us."

Caroline twirled the remains of her scotch. "A good number. Did you tell them they ought to believe this Santa myth?"

"I did. You're going to take this the wrong way, but it hasn't worked out so well."

"Lying rarely does."

"Neither does running your mouth when you ought to shut the hell up." Liz laughed, clearly at Caroline and not with her.

"Forget the past. You're the only bitch in this place." Caroline laughed back at her. She'd begun to thaw nicely.

"All jokes aside," Liz said, "and I'm not trying anything fast. It will be alright, Caroline. You've got a steady look. You're the kind you'd let watch your kids and not worry she'd feed them biscuits all afternoon. It'll work out. But only if you lay off the pyrrhic Santa business. Maybe even give it a go yourself."

"Start believing in Santa? At my age? Liz I took you for a little more – " Caroline wanted to say intelligent but surprise surprise, she'd learned something that day about holding her tongue. "Level-headed."

"Level-headed is overrated. Ask my wife."

"I think we've found common ground again," Caroline replied.

"We have. And since we've established our mutual bona fides, I'm going to say it again. Consider giving a little here. Is it worth your marriage, to be right on this?"

"Oh I can't see losing her entirely over it." Caroline said, hoping it was true more than knowing it was. "Santa's not what this is about, anyway. Me. Alone tonight, here in this obnoxiously noisy pub. I said something – unforgivable, actually. It started with Santa and you're right – that's not worth shit now one way or the other. I'll do whatever she wants about that, if she'll forgive me. Eleanor – that's my wife."

"That's where my better idea for your night comes in. Do something for her, instead of getting pissed and crawling back empty-handed in the morning."

Caroline imagined her uncomfortable night on Jane's lumpy sofa. It would still be humbling to sneak into the guest room under cover of dark. But it might be a lot less so if she could at least return with a gesture of good faith to accompany it. She had just the thing in mind, too.

She stood and shrugged into her coat and scarf. "You're about as smart as you look, Liz."

"I'll say the same to you. Have fun at the tree lot."

* * *

Caroline Claus waved as Caroline Dawson turned back from the pub door, a curious expression on her face. She'd given the woman one or two things to think about to muddle her facts-are-facts certainty, which is exactly what she needed.

She'd only ever met a few mortal incarnations of her spirit. Each featured a different highlighted aspect of Caroline's personality. It was fascinating to see the ripples spread and play as little bits of her gained prominence or recessed across generations.

This one had cynicism by the truckload. Kate and Eleanor must have come very late in her life. But all would be well. It had been each and every time she'd traveled, and she had faith her loves would endure. All her Floras grew to be wonderful too. Speaking of. She'd definitely found the right when for the current iteration causing so much trouble. She could feel her near.

"Flora Katherine Claus," she murmured into the air. She sat back and waited. Not five minutes later, the door opened. Flora looked around expectantly and, thank God, smiled when she saw her mother. She jostled through a thickening crowd of revelers and sat down in the chair opposite.

Flora glanced around. After a moment, a full pint of stout appeared in her hands.

"Don't forget your mum," Caroline clucked. Momentarily one appeared for her as well.

"I wasn't sure you'd be in a mood to share a pint."

"I don't blame you. I'm sorry I was harsh," Caroline said. "Though you did your share to provoke it, didn't you? You didn't mean it, did you? That you'd leave us? Flora even if you don't want to run things, please say you won't leave us."

Flora set down her pint. "I won't. I'm sorry as well. I never should have said that. It was thoughtless."

"And what - or who - is here that's softened you up?" This visit had mellowed Caroline considerably as well. The nearly joyless, constant preoccupation that hung on this particular mortal was stifling. A few more happy years though, and she'd be put right.

"Well of course it was Eleanor, wasn't it?" Flora replied. "This one's had it rough. Gather her Caroline has too. The latest bloomers I've met yet."

"Certainly. But Flora's working your magic on her. That little girl will have her heart three sizes bigger by next year."

"I think she's the right one, Mum." Flora picked her drink back up. She ran a finger top to bottom on the glass. The black began to swirl tan and run down the insides, which she watched raptly. "I forget how much I love that part."

"And by right one, I assume you mean you've found the right mortal to cross over and do the work you were supposed to do."

Flora's beer went flat again. "I've also found out what _I_ want as I've been here. I want to travel. It's how I've been called and it's how I mean to spend my time. They need so much love here, Mum. I don't want to send it down from on high. I want to be with them, to see and feel how they change when we bring them good."

"Of course you do – it's the most wonderful feeling in the world, when your magic changes a mortal. But that's not our privilege."

"It was our privilege when you fell in love with Eleanor. Why can't we win this Flora to the cause? She can do it, Mum. She's going to be a strong one there's no doubt about it. She'll be able to handle it."

"Perhaps. I think I talked some sense into her mum. But this crabby Caroline might need a little extra push."

Flora's face split in a wide grin. "Just what I was thinking. Mum will be able to help us out on that front."

"That's going to have to be your doing. I'm on the shit list right now." Caroline finished her pint and held it out to her daughter, who ran her finger bottom to top this time.

Flora studied her. "You went to see Mum, didn't you?"

"I did. She's onboard with this new Flora plan as well. Who am I to argue with both of you?"

"Oh perfect. You let me take care of the third wise woman."

Caroline nodded. It might be exactly what Flora needed, a chat with Eleanor. If anyone could explain the perils and sacrifices of crossing, it was her wife. "Alright. Let's go home. Just – you be the first to arrive."

"A human shield? Exactly how long were you gone, Mum?" Flora made big eyes at her mother and drew in her lips.

"Two days."

Flora whistled and shook her head. "Yeah. Be best to let me cool her off before you show your face."

Caroline grimaced, finished her pint, and started toward the door. "Thank you. I owe you one."

Flora met her on the way out and slung an arm over her shoulder. "No. Now we're just even for the time you took the fall when I swiped Eleanor's last bottle of Balvenie 1893 to take to Lawrence's one-hundred and eleventy birthday party."


	12. Chapter 12

The wind was howling across the snowy plains of tundra and kicking up shimmering whirls of ice dust when Caroline and Flora arrived home to Svalbard. She sent her daughter to the house and decided to kill some of the cool-down time at the stables.

Inside the air was much warmer, and sweet with hay. The reindeer were sleeping lightly through the gale outside and stirred when she came through. They were fidgety in December. Everyone was, her family, the elves, the deer. All anticipated Christmas Eve and the delivery of their year's work.

She was perched on a stool in Blitzen's stall and they were chatting about climate change and the effects on the past year's wind speed and sheer when she heard the door slide open and shut. "Flora's told you that she's agreed to stay on?" Caroline asked of the silence.

"Yes," was all her wife replied from the shadows.

"She's giving us twenty years and then she'll see about whether this new Flora might pass muster. She seems confident about it. I'm less so – her mother's a rare one."

"I'm sure she is. Every one of you has your unique charm," Eleanor replied drily.

"Did Flora ask you if you'd help us help her work that through?"

"She did. I think it's a good plan." Eleanor came closer but stopped down the way and started rubbing Dancer's nose. "Or maybe I more think it's worth a try. If you and she agree, and – Kate – as well, then I suppose – "

"You're the only one of us who knows what it's really like. To do what we'd be asking."

"I am. I'd never suggest it. I'd never counsel someone into it, or out of it. It's only a decision you should make for yourself." Eleanor came closer. She leaned over Blitzen's low stall door and scrubbed his neck. He grunted happily at her, then turned and softly poked Caroline with an antler.

"Oww." Caroline jumped from her stool and shoved him off. "Enough of that." She looked at Eleanor. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. But it was a good visit. And most importantly – I was glad to come back. I missed you. More than anything else, I missed you. You're my home and I swear I'll never, never forget that." She joined Eleanor outside the stall and offered a hug, which was accepted.

"I know. It's only that it was hard. I suppose I still feel delicate about it. All of it."

"You've every right to. I promise to handle you with absolute care for the next few hundred years," Caroline said.

Eleanor shook her head. "Well that's fine tomorrow. But I don't want you to be careful tonight. I want you to wreck me and leave me scattered in pieces all over the bed, and then hold me until they all come back together right again."

"Oh." Caroline said. "Okay. Yes. Let's do that."

"Though not right now. I've got cookies to bake, and you've got an errand to run." Eleanor slapped her hip and walked off. "See you in the kitchen."

"Yes." Caroline nodded. "For sure. I'll see you in the kitchen."

She turned to Blitzen and shrugged. He nodded at her and tossed his head, rapped his antlers on the walls with great vigor. Across the way Vixen began to prance. Dasher got busy tossing hay everywhere. Cupid stuck his tongue out and nosed the bells on his wall. Comet right next to him did as well and the whole place jingled.

"Alright alright. Enough." Caroline turned in a circle and scowled at the lot. "And you can all keep this to yourselves if you don't mind. I don't need Janie or any of the elves in on the details of my love life." She made her way to the door, smiled at her assembled lot before she clicked off the light. She was humming a merry little tune as she crossed the tundra toward the house, every window warm and bright and lights glittering across the rooftop.

* * *

Caroline pulled the Jeep into the tree lot off Weatherby road not long before close. Which didn't matter, because she knew just what she wanted.

Not fifteen minutes later she was on her way home. She took extra time about it, cranked up the carols, and cruised through neighborhoods that always did a little extra decorating for the season. The Liz character she'd run into at the pub was right. She already felt more herself. Some of the shame that'd hung on her all afternoon had lifted. While she wanted to show Eleanor her prize immediately, and to say how sorry she was, she still felt it was best to let the sun go down and rise again before they addressed all this.

The front porch was the only light on when she pulled through the drive. Alan and Celia were up in Halifax and it looked like Eleanor had already gone to bed.

It would be a neat trick to wrestle the tree off the top of the car, through the house, and into the living room by herself without making an awful clatter. But if she worked slowly and carefully, she could manage it. Hands on her hips, she studied the load on the Jeep. Then she tilted to either side, bent over to her toes, bent back and did a little arch. Turning herself into an invalid and Eleanor waking up to caring for her wife all the next day would not be a fruitful part of any apology.

She climbed onto the running board and tested the twine. It would be far easier to clip it. Caroline huffed and puffed into the house to check for a clear path to haul the tree, pre-set the stand, and grab a pair of clippers. She found them already on the kitchen counter. When she went through to the living room, she began to laugh and to cry.

Unadorned but fine and full and green, in the center of the room stood a proud, fragrant fir tree. They had their very own gifts of the magi. That was the funny part. She'd started to cry too, because Eleanor had found a way to be kind. It might be taken as a giant middle finger, but Caroline didn't think so. It didn't feel that way. It felt like love and forgiveness at the holidays.

Did they have another stand? She went to the garden shed to look. Armed with only a flashlight the search was dusty and frustrating, but she was hardly about to give up on it. Now she couldn't wait for Eleanor to wake in the morning and share the joke. Tucked in a corner was an old rust-spotted one that looked like it might hold up.

Nearly an hour later she was covered in sap and sweat and wearing a proud smile. The two trees occupied almost the entire living room. You couldn't see out to the garden or even to the TV. But it smelled divine and felt magical. Perhaps at some point it would also be romantic, but that seemed a little further away. She'd done Eleanor's leggy blue spruce with white lights and dug out multi-colors for hers. The ornaments they'd put up together tomorrow with Flora.

She pulled the clippers from her back pocket of her jeans and returned them to the kitchen drawer where they belonged. Next to where they'd sat on the counter was a cookie tin. It was ornately adorned with white snowflakes on a crimson background. She popped the lid. Inside were shortbread cookies, shaped exquisitely in the form of lady Santas. All of them were winking – at her, it seemed. Must be Celia's poor idea of a joke.

Peckish after all her work she mock-laughed and bit off the head of one with blonde hair and blue eyes. She didn't pay much attention to it until she'd half-chewed, when the most wonderful alchemy of butter, sugar, and spice filled her mouth. There was cardamom and clove, and rose - maybe? Honey and cinnamon, too. It was all so subtle she couldn't clearly distinguish any of it. Each flavor left an impression then vanished as soon as you realized it had been there. But the combination was splendid. She'd never had a cookie quite like it. She quickly finished it and grabbed another to nibble under the covers alone in the guest bedroom.

Caroline was up and folding raspberries into pancake batter, nibbling on yet another cookie and chattering with Flora, when Eleanor rolled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She kissed Flora on the head and stole a plump berry. "Did you find your tree yet," she asked Caroline.

"I certainly did. The question is, did you find yours?"

Eleanor frowned, then wandered into the living room.

Caroline heard her gasp and begin to laugh. She set down the mixing bowl and lifted Flora off her stool. "Sounds like Mummy's discovered her surprise."

Flora started to giggle. It made Caroline laugh too.

She came through and stood next to Eleanor. Both hands were covering her mouth, and she looked exactly as Caroline must've just hours earlier. Eyes shining and little chuckles that kept escaping just when they seemed to have stopped.

Caroline stood near but not too close. It was a good start to things. She wasn't sure yet how it would end. But she felt unreasonably optimistic. "And here I was thinking I'd come up with my own special way to apologize. Not that you needed to apologize for anything," she added quickly. "That's not what I meant. Just that – "

"It's hilarious that we've done this." Eleanor finished for her. "Instead of holding grudges or sulking. And I love it."

"Well I meant to pout, and then I had a change of heart," Caroline said. "What a terrible thing I've said – and done to you. I can't tell you how wrong I was or how sorry I am." The apology seemed to trip right off her tongue. Her tone wasn't somber enough at all and she began to worry that Eleanor might take it the wrong way, when her wife took her hand.

"I know you didn't. I knew that as soon as you said it. It was still hard to hear it, was all. I didn't mean to banish you last night, like some kind of pariah. It was only that I needed time to heal. And look at what's happened – it's the most wondrous Christmas miracle."

"Isn't it?" Caroline knelt, corralled Flora as she passed and hugged her tight. She'd been dancing all over the living room in her snowman feetie pajamas, squealing and singing to herself. Caroline pointed to the trees. "Look at all that room Santa will have for leaving you presents."

"Santa," she asked, brown eyes like saucers. "He _is_ coming?"

"Christmas magic is coming, and that's all the same as love, isn't it," Caroline answered her. "We'll call it Santa for now."

"I think it's here already," Eleanor chimed in. She sat down on the couch and held her arms out. Flora took a running leap at her. Caroline followed, more sedately, and the three of them made a big ball of cozy snuggle on the sofa.

"I guess a little bit of magical thinking has its place, every once in a while," Caroline admitted as she watched the lights twinkle in the morning light. If this was what it felt like to believe in Santa, she might be willing to find her way back into it after all. For Flora's sake, of course.

* * *

 _ **Hope this has found everyone having a very happy Christmas, and to all a good night!**_


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